


Dear Mama

by Emby_M



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Epistolary, Gen, Grown Up Jack, Implied Albert/Arthur, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Post Red Dead 1 Jack, References to John/Abigail/Arthur as a poly triad, References to polyamory, These cowboys have a lot of love to give
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 14:15:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17102147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emby_M/pseuds/Emby_M
Summary: "Mama, did you know a Mr. Albert Mason?"-Jack writes a letter to his mama, as he usually does.





	Dear Mama

Dear Mama,

I have been happy, as of late.

Not blindingly happy, but content. More content than I thought I would be, only a couple of months after your passing. I'm still wearing the black armband, and I might for a while, seeing as I think of you every day.

I think of you and Pa every day, actually. I can't separate you two out, even if I wanted to. Even when things were tough and it was just you and me, or me and Pa, I never stopped thinking of you two as a pair. You were more with him around, and he was more with you around. More funny, more surly, more lovely. That's my thoughts, anyway. Maybe too late.

I'm not- without my grief. When I get up in the middle of the night and expect you to croak about getting you a glass of water, and am met with silence, it stings. When I wake up on some train car's seat without Pa's shoulder sticking in my ear, it aches. When I don't accidentally walk in to find you two kissing, it feels... emptier.

But I'm managing. I have school now, and work.

Oh- Work. Let me tell you about it, I think you'll laugh.

So I was looking for anyone who was hiring, and a friend of mine -- Billy, I wrote about him, with the glossy black curls -- brought back a lovely-looking picture from some photo studio. It's not too far from the rooms I'm renting, so I head over and walk in, asking if the owner's got any need for a smart, capable hand (you know how good I am at self-promotion.)

The clerk gets out the owner, who is an older gent, soft and round looking, smiling, smiling. He's a nice man, looks me over, asks my experience with cameras and I tell him a little about Uncle Arthur's Kodak, the photos he took and how he showed me when he was still alive (is he well, up there in Heaven? Did he make it there?). But funny thing -- I didn't use his name!

Anyway, he's excited to have me on, eager to show me how things have progressed since early glass plate cameras, tells me about these new models coming from Leitz that have larger film for better pictures... he hired me (!) and I didn't even know it, not until he starts chattering about pay and time off and "my boy, you are a student so I won't ask you for so much of your time, just your companionship on certain days..." etc.

So I start work, and it's all very interesting, the work we can do developing the photos (how novel, remember me begging for postage to get the roll developed and replaced at the factory?) and classes are going well in between, and the owner asks me to come have tea with him on Saturday, and he'll talk about projects we can put me onto.

He finally asks where I've come from, so I tell him about out West, and Beecher's Hope, and he starts telling me -- as a younger man, thirty or so, he went out West to capture wildlife photos. Here we're setting up the tea, laughing, and he mentions having a grand old time out there in Arcadia, and then I notice a picture on the sideboard.

Mama, did you know a Mr. Albert Mason? Did Arthur ever tell you about one? Because Mr. Mason, the owner of the photo studio and my boss, had a picture of Uncle Arthur sitting clear as day next to his sugar bowl.

I was quite stunned, as you might expect. I took the picture and asked him where he got it, and he said he took it. Said he took a picture of a man he admired very much, but then I balked and told him -- well, sir, this is my uncle, Arthur Morgan.

And he damn well fainted, except he caught himself and breathed -- your uncle, child? Arthur had a sister?

\-- Well sir, no, but my ma was so close to him they might as well have been siblings, and truth be told my pa had always been in love with the man, and Arthur had helped raise me, apparently.

Mr. Mason asked if Arthur was still alive. I had to tell him -- I had to break the news. I told him of Arthur's passing, and Pa's, and yours.

He took it better than I thought, seeing as I assumed Mr. Mason was like Pa and loved Arthur dearly. I was right, as I would find out later.

It was kind of funny, though, to see Uncle Arthur again. We finished setting up the tea, and Mr. Mason pulled down this album of images, and there was the West again, beautiful as I'd left her, and Arthur. Lots and lots of Arthur. Smiling, smoking, resting. A couple were more nude than I remembered Arthur being, but in a tasteful kind of way. Not the stuff you find in those Frenchie magazines.

So we spent this evening talking about it all. I told him about everything, everyone. Everyone I could even barely remember -- the sliver of Sean MacGuire's face peeking in to say goodnight and to make me laugh while I was sick, Hosea Matthew's quiet dignity I recognized even as a tyke, Charles Smith's bearhug when he met me again after the gang disbanded. I told him about Pa, and about you, and all the stories I'd heard about you two. I told him about Arthur. That early memory of Arthur and I going fishing. Making that crown for you, Ma. Did you know I found where you'd pressed it? I keep that old Bible with me even now, not for the Lord's words but for that crown, to think of a mother who loved me so much. I told him about Arthur telling me almost every day how much I was loved.

We both wept, but I can't say I didn't need it. I felt lighter then. I told him about the deaths, coming so soon one after the other, how fresh the grief was. How I couldn't bear to wear all black but wore the armband each day so I couldn't forget about you two, and wouldn't.

And then he said something beautiful. He told me that when he was young, he lost a close aunt, one who he had loved dearly. The only tangible reminder of her was a memento mori picture, and an over-large camera. He told me he began taking photos so he could share them with her. Show them to her in Heaven. He suggested I do the same for you.

So I'll be taking pictures for you to see of all the things I've loved and love. Get excited for them, and when you get them, show 'em to Pa and Arthur, alright?

That's all I'll say for now. I have seminar tomorrow morning and need to be in bed. I wrote too long again.

I love you.

With love,  
Your son Jack.

**Author's Note:**

> Jack should have a happy ending. He ends up traveling to Europe as a war photographer with Albert when the draft becomes unavoidable for WWI. After the war ends, they end up photographing the world together as a comfortably familial pair. Jack gets out of the cycle of violence for all of them, and brings them along for the whole journey. He always writes these letters, and sends them and copies of his photos back to Beecher's Hope.  
> If you enjoyed this, consider leaving comments and kudos! They're always appreciated.


End file.
